The Guevron Clan
by ElCaballito
Summary: Qui-gon is working undercover to reveal an assassination plot and all seems to be going well. Unfortunately, the social drinks have a very interesting affect on him. Obi-wan has to juggle both an assassination attempt and a misbehaving Qui-gon.


_This is a completely ridiculous story I wrote for fun. Feel free to make fun of it because I didn't take it seriously at all. I don't own the Star Wars Universe or characters or anything. Have fun.  
_

The deep metallic beat and raw vocals reverberated across the curved walls of the club and rumbled deep in the floor. Starbursts of neon danced across the graphic screens which covered the ceiling and the table tops, the patterns mimicking the senseless music blaring across the speakers. The music and light probably sense only to those tripping on the right kinds of drugs. Every species, gender, and attire converged into a writhing mass on the dance floor. The air dripped with the stench of salty sweat, sharp alcohol, and a pungent array of other chemicals from across the galaxy which melded together with the scent of cleaning supplies. Two figures in black leather vests and pants glided through the tangle of feet, elbows, horns, and tentacles. The taller one was an aging man. The shorter one seemed a boy in the way he followed his companion, and a man in the way he casually dismissed the advances of a Twi'lik dressed only in golden hoops, two strategically placed strips of leather, and iron chains. They joined a woman wearing a simple black dress with her silver hair straight down. The three retreated without a glance to each other to a back corner. The people who had been dancing there gradually jaunted back toward the crowd, giving the trio a generous meter of free space which no one else invaded. It was as if that little corner had been chopped off the club and no one really noticed it was there.

Qui-gon watched the dancers for a few minutes before deciding that Obi-wan had a good handle on perception alteration. He casually clapped his apprentice's leather-clad shoulder to indicate that he would leave Obi-wan to hold the illusion without Qui-gon's help.

"I find it hard to believe that you two are wearing _that_," the woman said.

Obi-wan snorted next to Qui-gon, struggled for a moment, and cracked a grin.

"Gersharazon, I like how I look in tight leather. I think the image matches my personality," he said.

Qui-gon rolled his eyes.

"Am I sure I can leave you to a job which involves finding a young woman with a very subtle mark on the back of her neck?"

His tried to repress a laugh and succeeded only in turning it into a gurgle in his throat.

"Here is the detoxifier you requested. I just calibrated to the neurotransmitter mimic in the Guevron clan's drink," Gersharazon said. She passed a black, thumb-size cylinder to Qui-gon. It had a single silver button on its center. "It's one click for one hundred milliliters, extra clicks won't hurt. It's my model, so _try not to lose it_."

She disappeared into the crowd. The detoxifier was the last element Qui-gon needed to complete his disguise for the undercover operation. He had spent the last few weeks meeting with the Guevron clan at different sites around Coruscant, using every trick of Jedi subtlety and persuasion that he knew to convince this family to trust him. The true business talk of the Guevron always took place in a private room at this club, however, and always included drinks containing Sarwa, a recreational drug which didn't seem to affect the Guevron nearly as much as it affected other humanoids. If Qui-gon wanted to coax the family to reveal their conspiracy for the assassination of Voo-Ta, an important liaison between the Coruscant government and a large mining operation, he would need a clear head.

Qui-gon looked after her skeptically and turned the detoxifier in his hands.

"Is something wrong, Master?"

"She said it was _her_ model. I think that means she made it."

"Do you have a bad feeling about this?"

"Yes, but this is a critical part of our mission, so that is to be expected."

Across the room Qui-gon saw the Guevron clan leader waddle out from behind a door. His green jowels quivered as he slowly turned his head and scanned the club with his beady eyes. He looked straight into the corner where Qui-gon and Obi-wan were standing twice, but saw nothing of interest thanks to Obi-wan's illusion.

"That is my cue," Qui-gon said. "I will keep you updated through our transmitter when I can. Try to find and follow that woman with a star and a triangle on her neck, I think she will be talking with the assassin tonight. Either that, or she is the assassin. Use your judgment. I trust you."

Qui-gon briefly touched Obi-wan's elbow before threading his way through the steamy bodies and sharp shoes to meet Fo Guevron, the squarish, green creature scanning the club. They greeted each other with a nod as a pungent swamp-smell washed over Qui-gon.

"I am sorry to delay you," Qui-gon said.

"Worry not, worry not," Fo Guevron said. "We value your advice, Venko. Enter with me."

Qui-gon had spent a good twenty minutes training himself to respond immediately to the fake name.

He followed Fo Guevron away from the dancers into a dimly lit room which smelled strongly of burnt leaves and smoke. The fat alien closed the door behind them and the blare of the music ceased at once. The only sound that penetrated the room was the deep vibration from the song's heavy bass. Eight other members from the Guevron clan were seated in sleek, white chairs around a simple wooden table. Qui-gon noted that there were two seats left, one at the head of the table, the other, to its immediate left. Qui-gon hesitated for a split second to let Fo Guevron take the seat at the head before settling down at Fo Guevron's left side.

A servant scuttled in from the side door and passed out bright red drinks in delicate glass cups. No one said anything and downed their drink at once. Figuring that drinks came before speaking, Qui-gon slipped the detoxifier into his palm, shielded from Fo Guevron's view. He pressed the black tip to the glass and pressed the silver button twice and immersed himself into the glass's contents using the Force, waiting for the warmth which would let him know that a chemical conversion was taking place to transform the drug into an ineffective form.

Nothing happened. Qui-gon couldn't help but wrinkle an eyebrow.

"Drink, drink," Fo Guevron urged.

Qui-gon pressed the silver button again. A little puff of smoke emitted from the device and sizzled, so soft only a Jedi could hear it.

Everyone was staring at Qui-gon and his empty glass, so he tipped his head back and poured the spicy liquid down his throat in three swallows. He blinked and shook his head before setting the glass back down. Little pangs of light bounced back and forth behind his eyes.

"Greetings!" Fo Guevron cried.

"Greetings!" everyone else replied.

The servant passed out drinks again.

_I had a feeling this would be unsuccessful_ Qui-gon thought glumly. He gulped down the second drink and regretted that he had never mastered the art of chemically converting substances in his own body. _Maybe I can learn tonight._

Obi-wan took out his comlink for the twelth time in two hours and scourged it for defects. There was nothing to indicate that it was broken, although it was hard to examine equipment when you were bouncing back and forth off jostling elbows like a pinball. With an uneasy glance around the room Obi-wan tucked the com-link back on his belt and glanced at the shut door which Qui-gon had hid behind for three hours. Obi-wan's search for the suspicious woman had not been very successful.

At last the door opened and his master strode into the open, eyes calm and alert. Obi-wan made his way over quickly as he could.

"Hello there, Obi-wan," Qui-gon said. And then he giggled.

His master _giggled_.

"Er, Master?"

"Hello, Padawan. You know, 'Paddy' would be easier to say. It is a much more efficient word, because it has two syllables instead of three. Hello, Paddy."

Qui-gon blinked lazily and smiled.

Obi-wan seized him by the elbow and led him back into the corner, feeling little bugs buzzing around in his stomach. Something obviously had gone wrong. He let the Force surround them, shielding them from searching eyes. The dancers gradually waltzed further away and forgot about the relatively open space that the two Jedi occupied.

"Master, did the detoxifier malfunction?"

"I think it did," Qui-gon giggled and started to step from side-to-side with the beat of the music.

"You are a Jedi Master, it probably will not affect you as strongly as someone else," Obi-wan said apprehensively, unsure how of loopy Qui-gon was. There was still a considerable chance that the effects of the drug were superficial. He had little other choice, anyways.

"I'm afraid I could not find the woman," Obi-wan said.

"Oh." Qui-gon leaned in close enough to make Obi-wan feel uncomfortable. His brows wrinkled up over his face and his sharp eyes pierced straight into Obi-wan's. He stretched his hand out, pinched his apprentice's nose, and shook the teen's head back and forth.

"Obi-wan, you are not dancing. We need to find you a girl."

"No, Master, we don't."

"Oh, that is alright. Then we will find you a boy!" he grabbed Obi-wan's shoulder and tried to shove him into the crowd.

"No! Master, that is not necessary. Really, er, I like standing by myself."

He grabbed Qui-gon by the elbow and pulled him back into the corner.

"You need to drink something, so that you want to dance."

"Do you remember _anything_ at all from the meeting?"

"Dance!"

Obi-wan threw up his hands, rubbed his temples, and began to step with the music.

"I remember something important they said that relates to our mission," Qui-gon mused.

"Good, that's good, Master. What was it?"

"I do not remember what the important thing was. But it was important! And it happens in an hour, I think." Qui-gon started to hum the famous ballad which often played softly in the halls of the Temple.

Obi-wan gathered his thoughts together and searched through the crowd using the Force, trying to catch something he had missed before. There was much to filter through, as deception and malign intent ran deep throughout the crowd. He was not fully ready to accept that Qui-gon was completely useless, so he set the anxiety aside. They were Jedi. They had faced armies of droids, a squadron of starships, assassins, fierce beasts, corrupt kings – this was a little stumbling block that they could soar over.

"Good evening!"

Obi-wan looked over to see Qui-gon talking into the com-link.

"Did you know that your identification number spells F-O-R-L-A-D-Y on my com-link? Haha, get it? Your number is fooooor laaaaaady!"

Obi-wan snatched the com-link from his master's hands.

"Qui-gon, how about you go over to that table, get a glass over water, and come back. Er, do not dance on your way over! We have a mission."

"Hmmhmmm, ok, Paddy."

Now that he had some peace, Obi-wan gathered together everything he knew about the mission. This assignment began when there was evidence that an organization would soon try to assassinate Voo-Ta and there was a handsome amount of money involved. The Guevron clan had investments in some of the major mining operations in the local sector of the planetary system, but a few regulations and policies worked against them gaining the full benefits. Vee-Ta had tremendous influence in ensuring the endurance of these policies. Qui-gon had posed as the clan's new financial advisor and was almost completely certain that they were the ones who had put the contract on Vee-Ta's life. The woman with the marks on her neck –

Qui-gon stumbled back to Obi-wan and threw his arm around the teen's shoulders. He held glass in his hand and stared at it for a few seconds. Obi-wan noted that it was empty and completely dry.

"Oh no… I forgot the water," Qui-gon said. He bowed his head.

"Look, that is a girl! She is too tall for you, Obi-wan, you need to find a shorter girl to dance with."

He seized Gersharazon's hands and started waving them in the air.

"Your detoxifier didn't work," Obi-wan said.

"I see," she replied, an eyebrow climbing up her forehead. She pulled her hands free and took a couple steps back. "Sorry. It takes about four hours for the average man to get rid of that drug, which means it could take Qui-gon about two hours."

Obi-wan shook his head. They would have to do better than that. "He said something important is happening in an hour, but he can't remember what."

"I'll contact the Temple and see if we can find some help, but-"

Qui-gon snickered and put his empty cup down the front of Gersharazon's dress.

"-but it looks like you're on your own, for now. May the Force guide you, you'll need it."

She merged back into the crowd without bothering to remove the cup. Obi-wan stood in the corner with Qui-gon, was had started to hum another ballad while he crafted little animals out of paper he found in his pocket.


End file.
